


Meth-od Acting

by lumbeam



Series: prompts/short stuff [2]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: (i say it's dubcon because of the position of power michael has even though T consents), AU, Age Difference, Casting Couch, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Play, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:38:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumbeam/pseuds/lumbeam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Based on a different prompt from tumblr user classichipsterdenial.) </p>
<p>"michael is a bigshot movie producer and/or exec. his studio sends out a casting call for a youngish (20’s) rent boy / call girl and trevor turns up. they go over the script and michael reads the client's part. obv old michael is a bit of a sleaze and 'auditions' him thoroughly, and trevor reeeeally wants the job so… "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meth-od Acting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clubafterlife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/clubafterlife/gifts).



> (heed the tags and enjoy)
> 
> (also everything is in lowercase but it's just a little story, so sorry)

 

there’s a knock at the door. michael, bigwig executive at richards majestic, is seated behind his desk, rubbing his temples. the whole morning was filled with meetings upon meetings. making movies involves so much more than wrangling actors. and now, it’s the early afternoon, and he is in charge of casting for a movie that he’s had the rights for for years. it deals with the scummy streets of los santos and the lowlives that inhabit it. he had his interns to have an open call session for extras and bit parts. michael’s in charge of major roles (already cast) and actors that are in a few scenes. even though he hasn’t seen anyone yet, he’s already tired of it.

“come in,” he says. his secretary strides in. she’s dressed conservatively. michael has tried to make her unwind, but nothing has worked.

“here are the resumes for the audition, sir.” she says, placing a small stack of papers on the table.

“thanks,” he grumbles, picking up the resumes. she starts to walk out, but she turns back to michael as she gets to the door. 

“your first audition is in a few minutes.”

“a few  _ minutes _ ?” michael checks his expensive watch. “jesus, colleen, that’s kind of short notice.”

“i’m sorry, it’s just how the scheduling worked out.”

michael sighs and pulls out a cigar from his coat pocket. “all right.”

she closes the door. michael looks through the whole stack and finds one that not even a child would call a resume. it’s a piece of scrap paper with the name “trevor philips” on it. at least, he thinks it’s trevor philips. it could be trisha. or tanya. or tailor phelps. whatever the case, michael crumples it up and tosses it in the trash.

michael lights his cigar. the first auditioner bursts through the door. michael’s caught off guard and he’s choking on his smoke. the guy looks like he rolled out of bed, or maybe out of a dumpster somewhere. he’s wearing a tattered army jacket, ripped up jeans, and an oversized plaid shirt. he has an oily mullet and scabbed skin. he looks the part.

“oh, fuck, didn’t mean to scare ya, old man.”

tears are welling in michael’s eyes as he finally catches his breath. “you’re off to a great start, kid.” he says sarcastically. “what’s your name?”

“ah, trevor. trevor philips.” he says, hesitating to offer his hand for a handshake but instead he just sits down in the chair across from michael. 

“so you’re the one--” michael stops to pull trevor’s “resume” out of the trash, “--who honestly sent this in?” 

trevor smirks. “yup.”

“kid, i don’t have time for fuckin’ jokes,” michael says, taking a drag off of his cigar. 

“no, no, sir, trust me, i can do this.”

“you have no credentials, trevor. you can’t even look nice for a fuckin audition! why should i even give you the time of day?” 

“because,” trevor starts, pulling a rolled up script out of his back pocket, “i can do this.”

“oh yeah? show me.”

trevor flips to the page and starts his monologue. it’s surprisingly trashy for a big budget movie. “in los santos, sugar, it’s hard out here. want to help someone like me out and have some fun? it’s 20 for a handy, 40 for a bj, and 80 for the whole thing. no kissing, no marks, no weird shit. well...it’ll cost extra if you want any of those things. although it’s free if you just want to look up my skir--wait--”   
  
michael reads the other part before trevor starts to question the last line. “baby, for that sweet ass i’ll pay any price.” his delivery is wooden, but trevor doesn’t mind.

trevor nods back at him. “how about we go ‘round the corner?”

“all right,” michael says as he puts the script back down. trevor tosses his rolled up script onto the chair beside him. “not bad.”

“see? i told ya.”

“okay, don’t get cocky. i still have to go over some stuff.” michael leans forward on his desk. 

“how old are you?”

“twenty four. you?” trevor asks before really thinking out about it.

“older than you. how’d you find out about this?” he takes a drag.

“friend of a friend.”

“you gonna elaborate on that?” michael asks, blowing out smoke.

“do i have to?” trevor asks, pulling out a cigarette.

“no i guess-- _ hey _ . you don’t smoke in here.”

“but you--” 

“ _ you _ don’t smoke in here.  _ your  _ name is not on the door.”

trevor scoffs and puts the cigarette back in the carton.

“and i don’t need fuckin’ attitude. you may be good at spitting out lines, but i can find anyone else out in los santos that can do the same.”

trevor is still for a second, then he straightens up in his chair. “right.”

“can you take orders well, trevor?” michael taps the ash off the end of his cigar. 

“most of the time.” trevor says, making careful consideration to be polite. he doesn’t want to lose this job. 

“you read the whole script?”

“ssssure did.”

“so you know there’s--well--” michael puts out his cigar. “a pretty graphic sex scene.”

“and?”

“just wondering about your limits.”

“i have no limits.”

“really? is that so?” michael leans back in his chair, trying to get a better look at trevor. “so you’re okay with nudity?”

“yup.”

“show me.” he says once again.

trevor stands up without another word, his thin fingers peeling off his coat and tearing off his shirt. he doesn’t break eye contact with michael as he strips down to his briefs. his body is scarred and skinny, and there’s a shitty tattoo of a skull on his right bicep. his neck tattoo is a dotted line that says  _ cut here _ . “all of it?”

michael nods. 

trevor shrugs and takes off his briefs. he’s standing in front of michael, keeping his arms at his sides with no sense of modesty. michael stands up, going to the door to lock it. he twirls his hand around to have trevor do a three sixty twirl. trevor turns around, showing michael that his back is as scarred as the front. 

michael steps to the front of his desk and rests on it, his palms pressed against the edge. he looks trevor over, eyes moving slowly down his body. there’s a couple of feet between them.

“listen,” michael starts, “depending on what the studios can allow--y’know, with advertisers and all--we  _ might  _ be able to go for unsimulated sex.”

trevor gives michael a look. “unsimulated.” he says it without adding a question mark.

“ _ real _ sex, kid. you feel weird about being nude right now?” michael asks, reaching behind him to pick up his script.  
  
“not a bit.” trevor says, picking the script off the floor. “we continuing the scene?”

michael settles back into his role in the script. “you do this often?”

“ha, well it’s my day job. i do it  _ all _ too often.”

“mm, i’m glad you do.” michael reaches out to run his thumb along trevor’s lip, but trevor takes a step back. he rolls up his script.

“we doing this ‘as written’ or seriously?”

“why do you think i got you to take off your clothes? gotta make sure you know how to perform.”

“well i just--”

“you don’t have to do this, kid. we can stop. i can find a smaller role for you.”

“no, i can--” trevor unrolls the script. “what’s your price?” he asks, stepping a bit closer to michael. his eyes flick down to michael’s hand, allowing him to bring his thumb back for brushing his lip. trevor tries to bite at it slightly. 

“depends. how good is your mouth?”

trevor smirks. “wanna find out?”

the hand that was brushing trevor’s lip goes to the back of trevor’s mullet and he pushes him into a kiss. it’s rough and messy and trevor can feel michael pressing up against him. michael tugs trevor off of his lips. 

“looks like i’ll be going for the eighty dollars, baby.”

trevor kisses michael again, tasting the leftover cigar on his tongue. he runs his hands along the front of his undoubtedly expensive suit pants, settling right on his bulge.

“heh,  _ someone  _ likes this.” trevor muses.

“don’t flatter yourself,  _ kid _ .” michael spits out against his neck. trevor remains flattered.

trevor reads his line. “let’s see if you’re more than just talk.” he wonders who would write this tripe, but, hey, it’s work. 

“could say the same to you,  _ babe _ .”

“so--you really want me to--”

“ _ yes _ , trevor. i want to see if you’re a well-rounded performer.”

“did ya do this for all of the actors?”

michael clears his throat in response, flicking his eyes downward.

“my customers say i’ve got the best  _ handiwork _ in all of LS.” trevor says as he reaches into michael’s trousers, trying to angle his hand to give a good handjob. annoyed, michael yanks trevor’s hand out of his pants and undoes his belt and tugs his pants down. he settles trevor’s hand back on his cock. 

“there. that’ll suit you better.” michael says, resting back onto his desk to have trevor work his magic.

trevor tugs at michael’s cock efficiently before going onto his knees. “but my clients say that pales in comparison to what my mouth can do.”

“show me what you got, gorgeous.”

after hesitating for a second, trevor slowly takes michael’s cock in his mouth. he’s sucked strangers off before, and has been on the receiving end of many a blowjob. but this time feels different. since it’s part of the job process, or so michael says, he has to give it his all. he can’t let the money slip out of his fingers. he  _ needs _ this.

so trevor picks up his pace and incorporates his hand into stroking michael off while simultaneously sucking him off. michael moans out softly, grabbing the back of trevor’s head and getting a handful of his hair. he twirls the lock of hair around his fist. the other hand drops the script onto the floor.

michael forces trevor off of his cock. trevor takes in deep breaths, a trail of saliva being the other connector between them. 

“th--get--my desk, bend over.” michael sputters out, pulling out a condom from his shirt pocket.

“huh, that wasn’t in the script.” trevor muses, wiping the saliva from his mouth with the back of his hand.

“you gonna do this now? get over here.” he rolls a condom onto his cock.

scoffing, trevor places his hands on the desk. he leans against it in a wide stance. he hears michael spit into his hand, and then he suddenly feels a liberal amount of saliva against his hole. before getting used to the sensation, michael pushes himself in.

“what--agh--what do your clients say about your ass, babe?” michael asks. trevor isn’t entirely sure that’s in the script.

“heh, they-- _ oh _ !--say it’s fuckin’  _ magical. _ ” that line could rival the hokeyness of the script, but michael moans out anyway. 

“i can see  _ why _ , ahh, fffuck kid--” michael slams into trevor, the pictures and props on his desk shaking. trevor sees one picture on his desk. it’s of michael’s family, or what trevor assumes is his family. his beautiful trophy wife, two teenaged kids--

trevor shakes the desk to make the picture fall over. nothing like guilt to ruin a good fuck. 

he pushes back on michael’s cock, and michael digs his nails into his hips to still him. michael increases his thrusts even more, moaning out into trevor’s ear.

“i knew you got the fuckin’ role as soon as you barged in, kid. i just-- _ fuck _ \--had to see what you could do--” michael says lowly, biting trevor’s earlobe. 

“well? did i exceed your expectations?” trevor asks.

“fuckin’ A you did--ah,  _ fuckin’ ah--!” _ michael stills his hips only making minor movements as he rides out his orgasm. in that time, trevor reaches between his legs to stroke himself off. 

he derives a  _ little _ bit of pleasure when he cums over the front of michael’s mahogany desk. 

michael pulls off the used condom from his soft dick and he ties up the end, tossing it into the trashcan in the corner of the room. trevor’s getting dressed again (only after wiping his cum on michael’s fancy turkish rug).

“hey, trevor--”

trevor, pulling on his jacket, turns around to face michael. 

“come to the set in three weeks. don’t get any more shitty tattoos or scars. come prepared, all right?”

“you got it,  _ boss. _ ” he pulls on his boots and leaves michael’s office. 

as he leaves, he can hear michael pick up the phone and tell his secretary, “hey, colleen, clear all auditions for the rest of the day. i got the perfect one…”


End file.
